


Rosemary and Thyme

by Ericine



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Empathy, Episode: s01e07 Sub Rosa, Fix-It, Flower Crowns, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mind Rape, whatever subtext you fancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: When Ronin first touches Beverly's mind, what she wants and what she feels don't line up. She goes to the one person on the Enterprise who will understand completely. Sub Rosa fix-it.





	Rosemary and Thyme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiagratia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiagratia/gifts).



> For Soph. This began as a fix-it for Sub Rosa off a suggestion from Tumblr. The suggestion involved a little witchcraft, a little herbalism, and some femslash in Spacescotland. I may still write that story, but this turned into a pretty lovely friendship story (that I guess you can read with a lot of subtext???) involving grief, comfort, and flowers. I still like it, and I love how it turned out that Deanna narrates it, because she sees the world and Beverly so beautifully. Enjoy. :)

This is new territory in their friendship, thinks Deanna Troi. She’s sitting across Beverly Crusher, and they’re supposed to be working (they will, in a minute), but right now, they’re discussing Beverly's grandmother’s sex life.

If anyone told her when she took this job that she’d have become this comfortable with anyone she worked with, she’d have (very nicely and gracefully) declined the idea.

But, hey, it’s juicy news, and she’s in want of a little harmless gossip. She’s worried for Beverly particularly since Wesley left for the Academy--not in the way that Mother worries about her, loneliness with one single solution. More in the way that she does for the Captain Picard or anyone who spends so much time with others’ well being on their minds.

“I’d read _two_ chapters.” She smirks at her friend and pushes the personnel reports between the two of them.

It’s actually a pretty long list today, and it has been for the past three months--the crew’s pretty shaken up about the captain’s death--they ultimately found out he was alive, of course, but those kinds of ends--the kind left hanging at the end of plenty of their missions, really--don’t get tied up so quickly.

Kind of like how losing someone who raised you hurts, no matter how old you are.

She can feel her friend’s guilt at being distracted, like a radio stream on a frequency that’s clear, but cutting in and out. She lowers the volume. Beverly and Deanna have always kept a distance of confidence from each other. It’s the same reason that they’re so comfortable sharing thoughts (verbally, anyway). Knowing that Deanna hears and understands but seldom comments--that's what makes Beverly so comfortable with her in the first place.

As a whole, the crew’s fine. Some sleep problems, of course. And nothing therapy sessions won’t fix. Deanna will just be busier than usual for the next few months. Beverly has to put in a few more orders for supplies related to that, but they’re a couple months away from that, at least. Still, it’s better to get a move on. There’s no telling what’ll happen on the _Enterprise_.

Beverly blacks out her PADD. “Good work. Want to grab a bite? I need to head back down to Nana’s, but those dreams have left me famished.” She giggles to herself, light laughter with a shot of nervousness, a shaking.

Deanna’s never felt her friend's feelings _shake_ before. But Beverly’s not remembering the incident physically anymore--she’s remembering it emotionally. Fear. Loss of Control. Deanna’s stomach drops a little.

“I’d love to,” Deanna smiles. Beverly collects her things. “Bev? Can I ask you something?”

Beverly smiles - a warm, clear sun rising over a night of rain. “Anything.”

“If anything about it scares you--” She doesn’t know why she’s intentionally vague--just that she has to be. “--don’t hesitate to talk about it, okay?”

Beverly’s smile is characteristically reassuring, but Deanna gets the pang of nervousness again. “Thanks. Really, thanks, Deanna.”

“Granola, lots of berries?”

Beverly arches an eyebrow. “You want that hazelnut chocolate stuff too, don’t you?”

“It’s like you can read my mind," Deanna says with a wink. They laugh.

* * *

Deanna spends a lot of her time listening. There’s balance involved in her position. She has the trust and the ears of the crew of the _Enterprise_ , but she only shares what's absolutely necessary. No one can ever know everything she feels. She holds a lot in confidence, like how she can characterize dozens of people by their emotions when they walk by her room. Happiness or anger are distinguishable at once, but not everyone experiences feelings the same way. There are characteristic shapes, textures to people's emotions. She’s learned those of _Enterprise_ crew over years.

For example, the Captain’s feelings--happiness included--rumble quietly, like a storm over a desert. Constant but intense--understandable for a person in his position. Lightning strikes when he thinks about the Borg.

In contrast, Geordi’s emotions generally hum a clear, symphony-like melody--mostly upbeat, with some slower, more mournful movements. Surprisingly loud, in the way that a trained singer knows how to reach ears in the back of a crowded room.

Worf’s make solid mountains, strong, a bridge between worlds not unlike the one she possesses herself. Guinan’s are a complicated instrument that Deanna doesn’t quite understand, foreign pitches characterized by a composer skilled enough to work mystery and beauty into her work. Will’s are the clearest of all because of their history, sounding a lot like her when she talks to herself, though they tend to think very different things.

Beverly’s, for someone so even-spoken, crackle and spit like logs on a fire. Still, they carry the yawning and concavity of someone who has suffered a lot of loss - and the power of someone who has knit that chasm into her being. She takes her power from there first, the fire second. There’s a familiarity for Deanna in Beverly's feelings--like her, Beverly spends a lot of time listening.

So when that fire pops in fear, it wakes her up, a sharp burn.

_Stop it!_

Her friend’s agitation is so clear that she might as well have yelled the words in Deanna’s ear. She's awake and out of bed before the door chimes. “Come in.”

Deanna shields her alarm. She’s never seen Beverly look like this - clutching a blanket around herself, hair falling out of its tie. Flowers cling to her head and blanket.

“Sorry about this. You're just the first person I thought would understand." She makes a beeline for the couch.

Deanna will heat up tea as soon as there’s an opening--something chamomile or lavender, maybe. She wishes she’d thought to replicate it before Beverly had arrived, but maybe that would have given too much away. “Please don’t be. Talk to me.”

Beverly shakes her head--not a refusal but a hard attempt to express her thoughts. Uncharacteristically, her words are all over the place, but the emotions keep a constant crackle--fear, agitation, and desire? Deanna furrows her brow. “I came into Nana’s house in the storm. It was full of flowers I didn't put there. And then I'd been getting these warnings about the house, but I didn't think anything of them. I mean, she's my nana, you know?” A tinge of guilt that Deanna notes for later. “And uh, I was there, and Ronin was there--”

She can’t help herself. “Ronin? The man from the journal?”

Beverly radiates hesitation - and shame? Deanna’s worried. She and Beverly speak about their relationships all the time, because they tend to outrank the other women on the ship and have enough trust between them to not have to worry about boundaries with each other. But shame isn’t something Deanna associates with Beverly's relationships--or relationships at all, really.

“It was like he was there and not." Beverly says quietly, waving a hand to illustrate. "I wish I could tell you exactly what happened. I'm not sure of it myself."

“Tea?” Beverly nods. Deanna replicates a tea for her and a hot chocolate for herself. She places the steaming mugs carefully and sits back down. “You said you dreamt about this man.” Bev nods. “And that he touched you?”

Beverly shakes her head, not _no_ , but _confusion_. "Yes. Not physically. Or at least I thought so, but I'm not sure." She tries not to meet Deanna's eyes.

"There's no rush. Take your time."

“I felt so strange in the house.” Shame everywhere, like someone had poured a little water on top of a scorching pan. It steams. Beverly pauses. “It scared me. I transported to the ship. I came here.” She takes the mug in her hands, still looking down at the ground. “I came here because I know you’ve experienced something similar.” With a free hand, she gestures to her head. "Um, I thought I would ask what it felt like when it happened to you."

She's talking about violation.

She zeroes in on Beverly's feelings, but she knows that it's useless. She rarely can pick up mind control. That she's feeling this way is more than enough indication that something's really wrong."I didn't know while it was happening," Deanna tells her. "The few times I have, I wasn't able to control it. I wasn't able to control my actions, and sometimes I wasn't able to control how I felt. But you know there’s nothing wrong with the way you feel. And there’s nothing wrong with you feeling stimulated by what was happening. It doesn’t change that you wanted to get away.”

Beverly grips her mug tightly. A pop of anger that comes out as a nervous whisper: “What if I hadn’t?”

“There’s still nothing wrong with that feeling. Beverly, it’s not your fault.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when it happens to you?” Beverly immediately feels terrible. “I’m sorry. That’s personal.” Her fear quivers, but her mug remains solidly in her hands.

"Ask me whatever you want," says Deanna.

But Beverly remains silent, sipping her tea until it’s about half finished. Slowly, Deanna begins to feel the doctor’s familiar warmth--shaky, but there. “I need to make sure nothing physical happened to me."

“Of course. And we can leave this planet tomorrow, if you want,” says Deanna. “You know all you have to do is say the word.”

The slightest concavity of regret - she thinks that the ship needs to stay there and help these people that her nana had lived among for so long. When she speaks, though, it’s with her characteristic even tone. “Deanna, will you--?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Alyssa Ogawa’s quiet, solid concern for her boss seems to calm everyone in the room - Bev included. “Nothing abnormal that I can detect,” announces Alyssa. “You want to look over the results?”

“I trust you, Alyssa,” Bev replies, mid-yawn. It earns a glow of pride, of friendship from the nurse. “Thank you. The feelings are subsiding anyway. I think I’ll turn in.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” says Alyssa. She lingers for the smallest of moments--just small enough for Deanna to notice and meet her eyes with reassurance. _Don't worry. I'll take care of it_. “Good night.”

It’s the opposite of what Deanna got from Beverly after the funeral. She absolutely doesn’t want to be alone, though Deanna can’t be sure that she’s the company Bev wants. “I can walk you to your room,” she offers.

Beverly, however, is lost in thought. “He was able to come into my dreams, I think,” she murmurs. “I really should spend the night under observation here, but I just want to be somewhere familiar right now.” Drops of attraction bloom like condensation on a glass, and Beverly feels wrong because of it. Her exhaustion is clear.

Deanna gets up and sits next to her on the exam table.

Beverly purses her lips. “Would you mind staying over with me? Maybe you’ll be able to see something I don’t. If you don’t mind. I know it’s late.

Deanna cracks a smile. “Tired? Me? Never.”

* * *

Deanna knows where Bev keeps her spare sheets. She helps herself to some from the closet and places them on the couch, ready to drag it into the bedroom. Beverly, now dressed in her characteristically frilly sleeping clothes, waves her away. “Would you mind just sitting here with me for a while?” Deanna sits crosslegged on the bed. Beverly lies down. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not planning on sleeping very much.”

Beverly chuckles. She doesn’t believe her one bit. “Goodnight, Deanna. And thanks.”

* * *

Deanna’s pulled plenty of all-nighters in her time on _Enterprise_ , with patients who needed observation or just because something unusual was happening (“unusual” is pretty commonplace here, though), but she’s surprised at how quickly she nods off and how soundly she sleeps curled up against Beverly’s pillows. She only realizes it when she awakens with a start to her friend’s voice.

Deanna’s on the very edge of the bed. The covers have fallen on the floor--funny because Deanna was sitting on them before she slept. In the flickering light, Beverly’s restless, moaning next to her. Her nightgown’s slipped off both shoulders. Without thinking, Deanna pulls them up.

That’s when Beverly snaps awake.

“I have to go back,” she says, looking straight up at the ceiling. She reaches for her comm badge, but Deanna’s already holding it. “I’m going back.”

Deanna doesn’t usually sense people’s dreams unless they’re very bad nightmares, but she’s seldom within range to experience that. Emotions right after a person wakes up, however--those are a lot harder to block out. The wave of Beverly’s arousal crashes into her. Embarrassed, Deanna tunes out, quietly moves the hand with the comm badge behind her. “Back where?”

“Caldos,” says Beverly. “I need to transport now.” She gives up rummaging for the moment and gets out of bed, pulling at her nightgown. “He’s waiting--Deanna?” The arousal dissipates a little, slides into confusion.

Deanna sits up straighter, curls her legs under her. “Hey, Bev.”

“The dream's so real.” She sits down on the bed slowly. “He wants me to go to him. I have to go to him."

Deanna hands over the comm badge. "Do you want to go to him?"

Beverly looks down at the badge, hesitates, then takes the badge, shaking her head. "No." Her jaw clenches, and she walks into the next room. I’m going to get some water. You want some?” Deanna nods. "I want to know what's wrong with me," Beverly says from the next room.

* * *

“It was like you were having a nightmare. You were struggling,” Deanna tells her friend. “It was like you’d kicked all the blankets from the bed, but when you woke up…” She waits for Beverly’s nod before she continues. “It was like you were struggling between pleasure and...no. Saying no.”

Beverly sighs, emotions swimming, then solidifying as she pushes them, shapes them. “When does your shift start?”

“In four hours, same as you.”

“You have plans after?” Deanna shakes her head. “Okay. Let me propose this. There’s nothing physically wrong with me. It’s only when I’m sleeping and when I’m at Nana’s, right?” Deanna nods. “I don’t want to leave. I want to figure out what’s going on. Will you come down with me tomorrow and tell me if you sense anything? If anything, you can tell me if I’m acting strangely. If anything happens, you beam us back to the ship, yes?”

Beverly’s struggling, but this feels more like the friend she knows. Still, she worries. "I'll agree, but only if you're sure you don't want to leave." Beverly nods. "It sticks with you, you know."

"I think it would stick with me more if I didn't at least try to fight it." She stretches out her hand, hits Deanna with that look that sends reassurance washing over all of her patients. "You're here. At least I don't have to do it alone."

Deanna takes her hand. “I’m just glad you sought me out.”

“You should get some sleep.” At Deanna’s look, Beverly makes a mock-stern face, an attempt to lighten the mood. “That’s coming from your chief medical officer.”

Deanna gets up. “I think I’d rather get ready for my shift early. I’ve got big plans after work--getting a headstart can only do me well.” She exits quickly before her friend can say anything.

* * *

Deanna’s the last to know what’s happened. She only knows that she has to meet Beverly in engineering instead of in the transport room like they’d planned. She starts when she sees Beverly crouched next to the body on the ground. “What--”

“It’s Ned, the groundskeeper at Nana’s,” Beverly explains quickly. “He’d come up here and tried to interfere with the weather system.”

 “The weather?” There are no clues from anyone in the room. They’re on varying levels of perplexity.

 “Data’s scanning the planet for an energy source like the one that killed him,” Geordi says grimly. “There wasn’t anything on the ship that could have caused it.”

 “An energy source that reached all the way up here?” Deanna asks.

 “Yes,” declares Worf. “This planet is getting stranger and stranger.” He pauses, a small dip of realization. “No offense, Dr. Crusher.”

 “None taken,” says Beverly. Her concentration’s already elsewhere. “They’re about to transport for autopsy. Counselor, a word?” She nods toward the door.

 Beverly doesn’t stop when she reaches the hallway, a beam of purpose, passion, ferocity. “Geordi and Data are going down soon. We’re going now,” she tells Deanna, handing her a phaser. “No one else needs to die over this. I think this is between me and Ronin.”

 There’s no good time to ask it, but it has to be asked. The emotion's crawling all over the air, building webs around her. Standing on the transport pad is a good a time as any. “Beverly, are you in love with him?”

 Beverly tightens. “I don’t know,” she whispers.

 And then they’re in the middle of the storm.

* * *

 They run the minutes’ walk to Felisa’s house. “Just let me know if you feel anything, okay?” Beverly yells over the wind.

“Nothing yet."

Beverly flings open the door. “Ronin!”

“Bev.”

“Ronin, I need to talk to you!”

“Bev!”

Beverly turns around, strength in the midst of chaos, hair flying, looking something like the cover of one of the romance novels Lwaxana loves so much. “You’re both calling me at the same time.”

Deanna’s phaser is out and pointed forward. “Bev, there’s someone here. It’s powerful, and it _does not want me here_.”

Beverly’s eyes widen, and she turns back around, lurching forward with a cry. The door slams behind her.

“Bev!” The door’s sealed shut. Of course it is. She aims her phaser at the lock. “Sorry,” she murmurs to no one in particular, and shoots. The lock metal lights up but doesn’t dissipate. She tries again. It glows brighter.

She doesn’t have a lot of time. Whatever’s happening inside is lighting up passion, and it’s getting hard to tell whose it is. “Bev, let me in!”

She kicks at the door. Nothing. The doorknob is still glowing. She can feel the slight dip in the sole of her shoe where the door's melted the bottom away.

There’s not enough time to call for help.

She thinks.

She thinks of Will.

Will would look at the door.

She doesn’t see hinges. Doors swing toward their hinges.

The hinges are on the inside, so she thinks of Worf. Mountains and valleys.

She tries to calm down, focus on her breathing. _It’s just another class_.

She kicks again, just below the door knob.

 _Open_.

“Beverly!” She runs inside. “Beverly?”

Everything around her is screaming _no_.

There’s a familiar flash of ginger by the stairs. Beverly's crumpled over. Her hands, clutching a lit lamp, are the only things keeping her head from resting on the bottom stair step.

“No,” Beverly whimpers, when Deanna grabs her with one arm and taps her comm badge with the other. When Beverly turns to push Deanna away, her eyes flash--or the lightning flashes.

“ _Enterprise_ , two to transport--hurry!"

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Beverly says--is still saying--when they’re on the ship again. “I’m fine.”

* * *

Once again, Beverly checks out perfectly, except for some minor bruising in her hands.

“You’re a lucky woman,” Alyssa tells her. “You don’t even have burns from the lamp.” She gestures to the lamp, miraculously still lit, on the side.

Deanna’s in the doorway with the Captain. “You didn’t inform me she was feeling this way,” he tells her.

“It was of a personal nature, sir,” says Deanna. “Actually, I’m still not so sure that it isn’t. Where are Data and Geordi?”

“The scan didn’t turn up much. They were going to head down to the planet tomorrow. The storm might be interfering with their instruments.”

“So they won't go today,” Deanna replies, half to the Captain and half to herself.

“You think it’s related?” Deanna nods. “Why?”

“When the door shut on her, I couldn’t open it.”

“And you ruled out the wind.”

“Yes, sir. But here’s the thing--I shot the knob with a phaser, and the energy stayed.”

The Captain raises an eyebrow. “Stayed how?”

“It just glowed. When I kicked it--” She lifts her shoe. “The rubber burned. If they’re looking for an energy anomaly, maybe that’s a good place to start.”

He nods. “I’ll relay the message." He pauses, rumbling concern. "How much danger would you say she's in?"

Deanna thinks. "Little physical danger. The personal consequences, though--you're wondering why we went down there."

He nods, curiosity, not accusation.

"I think as many of these decisions should be hers as possible."

He nods. "I trust you, Counselor."

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” He begins to walk, then turns around. “Counselor.”

“Yes, sir?”

“The ship and its crew takes priority. If we need to leave, say the word.”

Deanna nods, still thinking as the doors slide shut behind the Captain. She feels like she's missing something. What is she missing?

“I need to go back. He wants me back." Beverly's in the doorway behind Deanna.

“How are you feeling?”

Beverly lifts her hands. “Nothing a cold pack won't fix. That wind was strong.”

The fact that the door and windows were closed isn’t the most important thing to point out right now. “Was he there?” She nods. “I didn’t see anything. What did he say?” Beverly looks down. She’s flooding with emotion. Shame, fear, anger, loneliness, attraction, sadness, confusion. It makes Deanna’s heart sore. “Hey, Beverly. I’m sorry.”

She wants to touch her. Touching comes natural for Beverly, and so much of the relationship between them is touching--a reassuring hand on the shoulder, their feet touching when they warm up for their workout sessions, clasping each other's’ hands in excitement, high-fives, sitting hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder during those times when Beverly just needs to know that someone’s listening but won’t say anything.

Any touching needs to be Beverly's decision now. Deanna simply opens her hands--low, in her friend's line of sight. Beverly tilts her head toward her office.

* * *

Behind the door, Beverly hands Deanna the lamp. “He's connected to this.” Her eyes flicker over to her desk, but she doesn’t want to sit there. They sink to the floor together.

“Your family heirloom.”

“You sensed him, right? Could you tell what it was?”

Deanna shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ve encountered something like it before. It's not human.”

“Its power comes from the lamp, can you believe that?" She almost laughs. “Some legacy. It’s how he keeps his form.”

“Human form?"

“Yes,” whispers Beverly. “It’s how he’s been with the woman in my family for generations. You should just blow it out and be done with it."

Deanna leaves the lamp lit between them. “It felt real, didn’t it?”

Beverly’s eyes swim for a moment, flash of green. “I’ve been reading all of Nana’s journals. She never once seemed worried about him. I think he made her happy, and I understand, you know? It’s hard to be alone--you all are wonderful, of course. You’re my family. But to be wrapped in something like this forever--I understand the appeal.”

Beverly's loss is far and wide and always aching. She's dealt with it well enough, learned to patch up the holes a little and move on. To be given the opportunity to feeling the way that she did before must feel like paradise. “Ship life doesn’t really lend itself well to feeling safe.”

“And most days, I love exploring, Deanna. I live for it.” Beverly blinks back her tears--quiet, always quiet. Deep breaths to calm, flowing sadness but not overflowing, speaking in calm, even whispers. “But every once in a while, you want to put it down, right? You just want to put everything down and breathe and rest--rest in something soft and loving.” The sadness, the _missing_ , keeping flowing, flows right out into the tears, through the wise acceptance Deanna has come to accept as characteristic of her friend. “And I know it’s there. I know it’s here on the ship, but to feel it, really physically feel it--” Each of her hands clasps the opposite forearm now, the smallest representation of what she wants to feel. “--I don’t want it like this. I know this way isn’t right, but I know why I want it too.”

(Jack is her deepest chasm, streaming lava river pools that will never cool. But each loss has its own place, their own tides. Deanna lets them flow through Beverly, to her, and back again.)

Beverly cracks a small smile. “I know you’re dying to come over here, so you can.” It’s hard to slide across on the floor gracefully, without breaking this moment, but Deanna manages, balancing on her knees so she’s tall enough to cradle Beverly’s head against her chest. “I miss them," shrugs Beverly, welling up again. "I always miss them. I'm used to missing them. But this." She lets out the smallest of sobs.

But her feelings roar and _burn_.

“This isn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to make me feel like this. How am I supposed to miss them when he controls my feelings? How long did Nana live this way? How long have all of us lived this way?"

She's silent then. All the noise is on the inside. Deanna knows she can look up at any point and know the time. It’s irrelevant.

The anger recedes slowly, back into _missing_ , back into a want for _doing_. When it’s time for her to let go, Deanna does. She produces water, tissues.

When Beverly’s finished, she’s still looking at the lamp. Deanna squeezes her hand.

Beverly reaches for it, extinguishes it. They sit there and watch, as if something's going to rise out of it. It doesn’t. “You’re right," Deanna tells her. "What he’s doing isn’t right.”

Beverly sighs. “I know it’s late. But I also know that if I sleep, he’s going to come back.”

“Today was the first day you’d lit the candle?”

"Yes." Tears gone, Beverly smooths out her hair and braids it back loosely. "The candle is plasma-based--powerful, but not powerful enough. There has to be another power source. This can’t be the only thing.”

“Something down on the planet.”

Beverly stands, brushes herself off, and offers her hands to pull Deanna up. “We should go to the Captain.”

On the way, Deanna runs into Will. She doesn’t quite have time to stop, so she hugs him in a way she hasn’t in a while, wrapping as much of her mind as she can around his. When he hits her with a look of both concern and surprise, she keeps walking.

 _Just because_ , she tells him as she trails Beverly down the hallway. _Just because I don't let you know enough, and I want you to know._

* * *

It’s just past midnight when Beverly, Deanna, Geordi, and Data gather with the Captain.

“A lamp caused all of this,” Captain Picard says, peering down at the object.

“Not exactly. If it was just the lamp,” says Beverly, “we could destroy it and be done with it, but there’s something else."

"It could be anything," says Deanna. "Anything in that house."

“A plasma lamp is a powerful energy source, but it’s not completely self-renewing. This being--if it is truly anaphasic, as Dr. Crusher has noted--would have to have access to something very powerful, something able to sustain it over long periods of time,” says Data. “Something either self-renewing or who made the candle self-renewable, then stopped.”

“If it’s always been able to self-renew,” says Geordi, “what changed?”

The room falls to silence, which Beverly punctures with a deep breath, a small sigh. “She died.”

* * *

There's no clear need as to why Deanna needs to be down on the planet, but no one stops her when she follows the others to the transport. The storm’s the worst it’s been so far. Her hair has flattened around her head by the time that they reach the graveyard.

She senses it. It’s strong but starving. Maybe its hunger is what made it so readable to her, made it capable of traveling so far. She doesn’t think about it much more, though, because the firefight is starting, and she crouches by the wall with her phaser. Data and Geordi are down immediately, though, and Beverly's grandmother is sitting up in her grave. It makes Deanna sick.

The wind is howling. She can't hear much, but she can feel plenty enough. “Leave her alone!” yells Beverly. Her feelings are louder than even Geordi’s now, and Geordi’s in pain. When Beverly draws Ronin away, Deanna runs to transport them back to the ship.

Deanna sees her destroy the lamp, then the being. She’s defiant, on fire, a phoenix alight in the storm.

Beverly has always been larger than life on the inside. Deanna kneels by Felisa's casket and watches her friend wipe away every trace of Ronin.

When Beverly falls to the ground crying after, Deanna's there to catch her. It's the last time anyone will see her cry about it.

* * *

Sick Bay attends to Geordi and Data as Beverly oversees the reburying of her grandmother's body. At Beverly's request, Deanna gathers as many camellias as she can and helps arrange them inside the casket. An apology, perhaps.

They sit in Beverly's living room now, ship at warp speed, among boxes of Felisa's journals and pictures. A pile of tartans sits on the couch, and a basket of flowers (no camellias, though) sits on the floor. Beverly wraps Deanna in a blanket, then does the same to herself.

This isn't a time for Beverly to talk--it's a time for her to _do_. "Where should I start?" Deanna asks.

Beverly picks up the basket of flowers. Picking them was the last thing she had done before she left. "Just sit down. I think we've spent enough time for the past few days delving into the past." Deanna sits on the floor, and Beverly sits behind her. "Let's just be here right now." She puts her hand on Deanna's shoulder, then gathers Deanna's hair behind her.

When Deanna turns around, there's the smallest hint of Beverly's telltale smirk. "May I?" Deanna nods. Carefully, Beverly undoes Deanna's updo and splits the hair familiarly. Deanna hands her the flowers: rosemary for remembrance, thyme for courage and strength. Beverly weaves them into her hair intricately and firmly. Her hands are sure.

"You've done this before."

"Just something from when I was young," Beverly replies. She braids down the back and adds a headband of flowers around the front. "I haven't been able to get this many flowers this fresh for a while."

Then they switch, Deanna's hands less sure--she doesn't style hair that isn't her own, usually. But the braiding is easy, and the flowers are easy enough with some guidance. Beverly's hair is thinner than her own, with shades of gold among the red. The highlights come out on top and shine particularly bright.

"Our family's genetics are what made him such a home," says Beverly, staring straight ahead.

Deanna lets her finger loop further under than it has to so she can touch the back of her hand to Beverly's neck. "You're the one who broke that cycle. You and your mother both."

"Deanna, I don't want to question my upbringing for the rest of my life," says Beverly, in that low, melodious way she reserves only for her truest of truths.

"Does it affect your relationship with Felisa, though?" asks Deanna, securing the last flower in at the end. She doesn't know how to do a headband, but she tucks some extra flowers in the front. "Do the people you date affect the way you've raised Wesley?"

"I know it doesn't _here_ ," Beverly replies, pointing to her head. She takes Deanna's hand from her head and turns to meet her eyes. "But in my heart--maybe I just need time."

Deanna kisses her hand. "You know. I'm here if you need me."

“Yes.” Beverly smiles her sunrise smile. “Thank you for everything, Deanna. What would I do without you?”

“Survive,” she replies. “That’s what you do. And extraordinarily, might I add.”

“Well, I’d rather not have to survive without you.”

"That makes two of us."

Beverly leans back against Deanna's stomach, just for a moment. "You want to go to Ten Forward? We're going to look ridiculous with blankets and flowers, but--"

"That's exactly why we must go. And have wine, of course." She stands and extends a hand down.

Beverly takes it.


End file.
